Stuck
by naggingGargoyle
Summary: [Werewolf Rachel, loner Quinn, Faberry Week day 7: Snowed In]


**AN: **This was one of my entries for the very awesome Faberry Week. Just posting it here in case I ever decide to continue.

* * *

_"The storm is expected to hit our area in the next four to six hours. Residents are advised to stay inside, lock the doors, keep their heaters on and, as always, be wary of stray werewolves. In other news…"_

Quinn turned off the radio and sighed. She could feel a headache coming on. She regulated her breathing and concentrated on slow, deliberate motions as she boiled water to make tea. The last thing she needed was to burn her hands today.

There was going to be a snowstorm today. Which meant that it was going to be even less possible than usual for her to leave the house. Of course, she always had enough food around for at least a couple of weeks, but she still needed to go out at least far enough to get some more firewood before the storm hit. _Such an eminently comforting prospect,_ Quinn thought bitterly.

Finishing her tea and pulling on all her thermal shit, her sturdiest boots and her favorite axe, Quinn grimaced bracingly and stepped outside.

* * *

"Oh, _shit_."

On the hard, half-frozen ground, completely naked and shaking violently, Quinn found a tiny figure lying curled in around itself.

"Fucking _shit_," she repeated. "At least you're still alive. How the hell am I going to carry you?"

Quinn dropped her axe on the ground. Hopefully she'll be able to find it after the storm passes, but probably not. Then she examined the figure at her feet. It was a woman, breathing shallowly and cold as ice. She was small, yes, but probably not small enough for Quinn to simply pick up and carry in her arms. On the other hand, jarring movements could be very dangerous to someone in her condition.

Sighing in resignation, Quinn crouched down and gently coaxed the woman onto her back, and carried her piggyback all the way to her home.

* * *

"Hypothermia, hypothermia…" Quinn muttered to herself as she filled up two hot water bottles and gathered as many warm blankets as she could find.

"This was very stupid of you, lady," she told the woman lying on her carpet in front of her fireplace. "There are much nicer ways to die, you know. Oh, you're not shivering anymore. Bad sign."

Quinn placed the bottles beneath the woman's armpits, piled all of the blankets on top of her, took a deep breath, and started peeling off her many layers.

"I'm taking my clothes off for you, lady. You'd better be grateful, if you survive this."

Stripped down to her underwear and wool socks, Quinn pursed her lips, focused on her breathing, lifted the blankets, and crawled inside them so she could wrap herself thoroughly around a complete stranger. _Naked_.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck _fuck_. Don't panic. Don't panic. No panicking. You're fine. No panic attacks. Just a half-dead pretty lady in desperate need of your direct body heat." She gritted her teeth, but she could already feel her breathing snag and stutter, and there was something dark and consuming just behind her eyes, waiting to enfold her. She hugged the icy body in her arms tighter. "_Don't_. _Panic_."

They remained frozen like that, the woman again shaking with cold and Quinn shaking with the effort of warding off her anxiety, until slowly, slowly, the woman's skin thawed and her heart rate slowed and evened.

"You're okay. You're okay," Quinn breathed in relief, and she wasn't entirely certain to which of them she was referring.

* * *

Once the woman regained full consciousness and most of the disorientation wore off, Quinn hurriedly dressed them both back up and made tea.

"You need to rehydrate," she explained. "Also I like tea."

"Where am I?" the woman asked her, confused but strangely calm.

"My house," Quinn answered simply and sipped her tea, too numb to feel its burn.

"Why am I here?"

"That's a good question. Why _are_ you here?" Quinn repeated. "Alone? And naked? Were you trying to kill yourself?"

The woman frowned. "No," she said. "I was trying to get lost."

"Why?"

The woman idly turned her teacup around between three fingers. "Do you know what day it is?"

"Tuesday," Quinn replied reflexively.

"The fourteenth."

"Right."

The woman smiled somewhat bitterly. "Night of a full moon."

"Oh." Quinn took another sip. "You're a werewolf?"

"The best thing to do is always to get lost," the woman said quietly. "When you're lost, you don't hunt. You're too scared."

"And going out naked and alone into a snowstorm is absolutely the best way to get lost," Quinn told her angrily. "You have no idea how lucky you are that I found you."

"And you have no idea how unlucky you are that you did."

The perfect desolation in the woman's voice was almost painful just to hear.

"Why don't you just lock yourself in?" Quinn asked her.

"I don't… I don't _have_ anywhere to lock myself in."

Quinn nodded. Homeless werewolves were very common. "What about a wolf shelter?"

The woman's grip tightened on her untouched teacup. "I'd freeze to death a hundred times over," she said, "before I go back to a place like that."

Quinn finished her tea and put the empty cup down just a little too hard on the table.

"So you _were_ trying to kill yourself," she stated.

"No," said the woman. "I was just running."

"But you don't mind if you die."

Something harsh and terrifying passed over the woman's features too quickly to confirm. "I'm tired of running."

Quinn leaned back in her chair and rubbed her palms on her pant legs. She had no answers to give this woman, and it hurt.

"Why are _you_ here?" the woman asked her suddenly.

"Here where?"

"In a secluded cabin in the woods in the middle of a snowstorm, here."

"I live here."

"Why do you live here?"

"Oh, because I'm a vampire," Quinn replied matter-of-factly.

The woman stared. "Really?"

Quinn raised an eyebrow. "No."

"Oh." She almost sounded disappointed.

Quinn sighed. "I'm Quinn," she informed the woman. "And I'm not going to let you die, be advised. But if you try to eat me, I'm dressing you up and kicking you out."

"Noted. What'll I be wearing?"

"Many, many layers. You will look very silly."

The woman smiled. Her smile was… something. "I'm Rachel," she said. "Rachel Berry."

* * *

The storm outside made its best impression of old school horror movies and the fire in the fireplace crackled meaningfully, and Quinn and Rachel sat cross-legged on the carpet and played board games.

Quinn was winning.

Rachel was staring intently at the board when Quinn found herself making a confession.

"I have PTSD," she said.

Rachel didn't look up. "D-14."

"Miss. That's why I live here. Being around people is hard for me. A-5."

"Hit! You're good at this. Uh… F-9."

"Still miss. Aren't you going to ask?"

Rachel glanced up from the board to fix Quinn with a look that was surprisingly solemn. "I don't go after other people's secrets," she said, and looked away again. "It's your turn."

Quinn felt somewhere in the middle between wanting to laugh and wanting to throw up. "A-6," she said finally.

"Okay, you've sunk my battleship!" Rachel announced. "You really are good at this game."

* * *

"I've got a basement."

"Okay?"

"It's got a sturdy door. And a lock."

"Look, Quinn…"

"Just stay until the storm passes. I'll get the spare mattress down there, a proper heat generator. Some raw meat, if you want."

Rachel grimaced. "I'm vegan."

Quinn laughed. "Oh, wow. A vegan werewolf. Wow. Okay."

"Not funny."

"Is too. Look, I won't murder you and bury you under the floorboards or anything, I promise. Stay the night. You can tear the spare mattress up if you get wolfie-angry or whatever, nobody uses it anyway. If it clears up tomorrow, you can go. But I'm not letting you kill yourself, okay?"

"Aren't you scared?"

"Of you? You're like, what, four feet tall?"

"I'm almost 5'2''!"

"Oh, yeah, _terrifying_."

"That's – that's not the point! I'm a werewolf! I… I can _kill_ people!"

"And my basement door is thicker than your head. Also you should see my knife collection." Quinn smiled sardonically. "I've got the complete serial killer accessory kit. I think you're the one who should be scared."

"I can take care of myself," Rachel said.

"So can I."

"And I've got pepper spray in my… boot… which I forgot I don't have right now."

Quinn took her keys out of her pocket and unhooked the tiny can on the keychain. "Here, you can have one of mine."

"That's right, arm the freaking werewolf."

Quinn pressed the can into Rachel's palm and tried not to flinch when Rachel's fingers grazed hers.

"Stay, okay?" she asked.

Rachel stared at the pepper spray for a while.

And then she said, "Okay."

* * *

That night, Quinn dreamed about teeth a lot. There was the rending of flesh and the crunching of bones and the stench of gore and stomach acids, but, at least it was a nice change of pace from her usual nightmares.

In the morning, she opened up the cellar door to find Rachel naked again, huddled in a corner and tightly hugging a half-torn pillow. Quinn's spare mattress lay on its side against the wall, thoroughly skinned and gutted.

Quinn threw a fresh set of warm fuzzy sweaters on top of Rachel, who didn't wake up, and climbed back up to the kitchen to make some goddam meat-, eggs- and dairy-free breakfast for the vegan fucking werewolf.

* * *

Looking frazzled and frumpy and aggressively adorable in Quinn's shapeless, too-large sweaters and still clutching the shredded pillow, Rachel finally emerged from the cellar and plopped down on a kitchen chair in front of Quinn's vegan-friendly breakfast.

"I ruined your mattress and your blanket and," she held up her snuggle buddy, "this pillow."

"Mmm," Quinn replied as she mixed some crushed garlic and lemon juice into the tahini she was making.

"Sorry."

"I hope you like Mediterranean cuisine," Quinn told her.

"I –" Rachel looked like she was going to apologize again, but then she didn't. "Yes," she said, "definitely."

They ate quietly, saying almost nothing, Quinn's butchered pillow tucked between Rachel's legs to free up her hands so she could eat. Quinn couldn't decide whether it was endearing or depressing. Someone like Rachel deserved to have something more alive to snuggle with.

When they finished washing the dishes and wrapping the leftovers up, Rachel exhaled loudly and looked at Quinn.

"So, what now?" she asked.

"Whatever you want," Quinn said. "The storm's passed, though the snow's still here, and I get the feeling you wouldn't wanna contact the authorities to get some sort of emergency evacuation. I could get you to the nearest town myself, but, I don't know. It's up to you."

"Yeah."

"Or you could stay here a few more days." Quinn shrugged and glanced down. "I've got scrabble."

"I will kick your butt at scrabble," Rachel warned.

"You clearly haven't seen my thesaurus."

Rachel chuckled. "No, I haven't seen your thesaurus."

"Stay, and I'll show you."

"I'd like that. But I –"

"'S a very comprehensive thesaurus. Perfect for swatting stubborn ravenous werewolves on the head with, you know."

"The moon's still sufficiently full," said Rachel.

"My cellar door's still nobody-will-hear-you-scream thick," countered Quinn.

"You… really wouldn't mind?"

Quinn shrugged again. It took her a somewhat great deal of willpower to refrain from physically crossing her fingers.

Rachel's smile was rather brilliant. "Go get your thesaurus, then," she said.

Quinn didn't know about brilliance, but she was fairly certain her own smile was, at the very least, pretty embarrassingly wide.


End file.
